Saving Sheppard
by T'Pring
Summary: Sometimes it's the little choices that make the big differences. Sheppard's friends and family try to save him, in their own ways, for their own reasons... Written for the LJ SheppardHC Secret Santa Exchange. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

It was over. Just like that.

John was always prepared for death. It was what lessened the fear of it. He'd accepted the risks of his career since he'd signed his name on the Air Force application his recruiter had handed him. Back then, the unquenchable optimism of youth combined with pride and stubbornness had driven the ability to laugh at his own mortality. Back then, death in the line of duty seemed noble and important, and he'd so badly wanted to be seen as noble and important.

Then had come real combat. Real missions FUBAR from the start. A tour in Afghanistan where you didn't even know who your enemy _was_. He saw lots of death, most of it meaningless, and none of it noble. That was when being prepared for death became being at peace with himself. He could do what needed to be done because he had no regrets. OK, that wasn't exactly true – he had no regrets he could do a damn thing about: He had plenty of wounds on his soul that his death would relieve at least, make amends for at best.

It wasn't until Atlantis that he almost began to think, just maybe, he could cheat death. He was still prepared, but preparedness came with a kind of arrogance. A bit of that youthful pride began to creep back. With experience and skill and luck, he escaped death so many times that, somewhere deep down, he came to believe he would be able to choose when it caught him – and that in the choosing, he would be able to _make_ it noble and important.

So when one moment he was careening down a hallway in a newly discovered abandoned, useless, Ancient outpost, blasting away at yet another gang of normal Pegasus bad guys, and the next moment he was slammed against the wall spitting blood, he was surprised: No choices. No noble acts. Just a bandit shuddering from the impact of his team's return fire. It was over. Just like that.

John watched, fascinated, braced against the wall, as the bandit who'd finally gotten a bead on him flopped to the ground. At least, his own death had already been avenged.

When the dull ache in his side and chest and back exploded into a spike of pain, John gasped, then coughed, spraying a salty mist into the air as his punctured lung expelled the red leak. He slid to the ground, his back still against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest.

"John." Teyla spoke his name, her voice so choked and broken that he looked at her, afraid that she, too, was injured. Her eyes were wide and her face was contorted in concern, but he smiled when he saw that she was whole.

"Oh my God, Sheppard," Rodney whispered as he knelt on John's other side. John rolled his head. He watched Rodney glance at the wall above John's head and then swallow hard. His friend's hands found his leg and gripped harder. Teyla was fumbling at the zipper on his vest.

Another tickle in his chest flared when he took his next breath – only then realizing that they were coming few and far apart. The coughing fit that followed brought tears of agony to his eyes and a cold sweat to his brow. He gulped for air, only to cough again and he began to panic. He couldn't breathe. Breathing hurt.

"Be calm, John. You must be calm. Slow your breath."

John concentrated on Teyla's soothing voice that penetrated the terror and he stubbornly forced calm, felt the sensation of drowning ease as he controlled his breath. With control came a moment of tranquility. He opened his eyes, realizing that they were shut against the screaming pain in his chest.

Teyla was back to fussing with his zipper. She had it down to the catch before John lifted a shaky, bloody hand and grabbed hers tightly, stopping her.

"Stop," he whispered, the word a mere ghost of breath against his lips. "Doesn't...matter."

Teyla froze, horror stricken. Rodney's breath hitched on his other side, his hands tightened on John's leg. Ronon appeared in the frozen moment and dropped to one knee at John's feet.

"This section is clear. I blasted all the doors shut. There are still bandits guarding the Stargate," he growled, as if he expected John to answer. As if he expected John to hop up and fight the rest of the way out.

"Go."

No one listened to the order. Ronon looked at Teyla. "Get him ready to move. The doors won't keep them out for long. McKay, when we get to the gate, stick with Sheppard. Teyla and I will neutralize the guards, then I'll hold the rest back while you and Teyla get him through."

"Ronon..."

Ronon's voice grew louder, more brittle. "Teyla you take point. I'll carry him. McKay you keep scanning for life signs while we travel."

"Go," John whispered one more time before Ronon finally whirled on him.

"Damn you, Sheppard. Shut up. We're not leaving you, so keep your damn mouth shut!" Ronon spat the ferocious rebuke, then turned to Teyla. "I told you to get him ready. We're going. Now."

With that, Ronon stood and turned his back on them, a gun in each hand pointed down the hallway in both directions, a human scarecrow protecting his small patch of family.

John closed his eyes in defeat and let them do what they needed to do. Teyla wrestled his vest off of his shoulders and he grit his teeth at the movement that was both excruciating and unnecessary. She next pulled out one of those chest seal things and slapped it against the hole in his side where the bandit's slug had slammed into his chest through the strip of unprotected lacing.

And all the way through, he discovered, when Rodney, working in tandem, leaned him forward and pressed another seal against his back.

"We're ready," Teyla announced at last. John just concentrated on staying still. Though the seals did seem to reduce the feeling of pressure on his left side, he could feel his lung filling up with more blood and the urge to cough was growing desperate. Even so, he knew the lung wasn't really the problem. He could feel his heart pounding, trying to compensate for a leak that wasn't explained by the plugged up holes in his chest. Something inside was...broken.

When Teyla heaved on one arm and Rodney on the other, he tried, he really tried to just pass out and let them haul his carcass home where they could mourn him feeling like they'd done everything they could. He understood that. He could try to give them that, at least.

Instead, as their efforts jostled his ribcage, his chest screamed in agony and he spit blood violently across the hallway when his throat tried to voice it. His feet flopped bonelessly against the tile as he gagged and coughed and groaned, and in the end, they lowered him back against the wall. Teyla was openly weeping. Rodney gripped his leg so hard it hurt. Ronon knelt at his feet again, his shoulders slumped, the anger gone.

"Go," John said again when his body gave up even trying to cough. A deep lethargy, shock, was settling over his whole body. This time, his team, his friends stilled at the command. They looked at him and he could see the grief and hurt in their eyes. "I...love you...guys," John whispered and then closed his own.

His heart thumped with the last bit of fluid it had to work with, then began to race. He'd never cheated death, John realized as he faded away. Death had been toying with him, biding its time, laughing at his arrogance. But John had gotten the last word, anyway.

He realized, in the end, that you can't choose the how or when of your death, but you can always make it important.


	2. Ronon

**Ronon**

He wanted to scream. He wanted to run. There was blood everywhere. A dark smear traced the wall above Sheppard's head and a puddle was spreading behind where he sat crumpled against the wall.

When John slowly lowered his head to his knees and went still, Ronon put his fingers in his hair and screamed a curse of frustration.

"What do we do?" Teyla asked. "He's...he's passed out. We could carry him now." The helplessness in her voice cut Ronon worse than any blade ever had.

"It's too far. It'll take too long to fight our way out. John doesn't have that long."

"Atlantis will send help."

"We're not overdue. It will be hours before they send someone to check on us," McKay retorted, sounding angry.

"Then maybe there is a medical facility in this base that we could take him to. Somewhere we could find supplies that would sustain him long enough for us to bring help back from Atlantis." Teyla was not one to give up easily, Ronon thought.

McKay's head jerked up at her suggestion and he began poking at his palm scanner, but Ronon knew they wouldn't find a clinic. They'd walked most of the outpost before the bandits invaded. The place was old, abandoned and not particularly well stocked.

Teyla's eyes were pleading, and she kept twisting John's hand between her own. Ronon dropped to his knee, put his hand on Sheppard's shin and studied his friend. Sheppard didn't move. If he took any breaths, they were too shallow for Ronon to see. Dreading the answer, he lifted his hand and pressed two fingers into John's neck. The weak pulse that did remain was growing faster and fainter even as his touch lingered.

"We'll stay until...we're sure. We'll stay with him. Then we'll kill every damn bandit in this hell hole and take him home."

Teyla closed her eyes, tears brimming the lashes. She shook her head, unable to accept the answer. The stillness that fell upon the hallway was oppressive, like a heavy suffocating blanket.

"Teyla, you're a genius!" McKay suddenly exclaimed, his voice sounding loud and shrill. He was still poking at his scanner. Ronon glared, irritated at the interruption of their vigil. "You said sustain him," McKay just bellowed even louder when no one answered.

"There's no clinic here, McKay," Ronon growled feeling his lips peel into a snarl.

"No, and if there was, I'd be very skeptical about the state of cleanliness and the expiration dates of any supplies that did happen to be around. This place is a bacteria pit if I've ever seen one and we'd kill him from infection even if we managed to - ."

"McKay!"

"There's no clinic, but there is a stasis pod!" McKay shoved the scanner under Ronon's nose. He just batted it away, staring at McKay, hard.

"A stasis pod? Like where they kept Beckett from getting sicker?"

"Yes. Six corridors over and one level up. It's not close but there aren't any bandits on the scanner between us and it. We put Sheppard in there, turn it on, and he doesn't get any worse until we come back with Beckett and Jennifer and an entire surgical team if we have to."

"Does the pod have power?" This was from Teyla and Ronon was grateful for her clear head that could think of the technical things he could not. McKay wagged his head and Ronon's snarl grew deeper.

"Tell the truth, McKay," he spat. "I won't drag him around this place for nothing. He deserves better."

"It's off at the moment, but this whole complex is powered by geo-thermal energy, like the Taranian complex but not nearly as large as that one, so it should just be a matter of directing the power from the main generator to the stasis chamber."

"_Should_ be?"

"Look, I can't promise anything, but other than just sitting here and watching my best friend _die_, I've got nothing else. Nothing. In the pod he'll have a chance. A slim one, agreed, but I owe him that much. I owe him a chance. He's...he's given me that more times than I can count."

McKay's voice broke and he looked away.

Ronon took a deep breath, feeling the choices before him. He could honor his friend into the comfort of death, or he could drag his friend through dark corridors on the small chance that Sheppard might fight his way back from death another day. When he thought about it that way...

"Let's do it. Help me get him up. I'll carry him. Teyla, you and McKay get us there."

The decision made, they moved like the team they'd become. Teyla and McKay hauled on John's arms and got him high enough for Ronon to duck and lift him over his shoulders into a fireman's carry. This time, John didn't cough, but Ronon heard a slight gurgle as John's chest fell across his shoulders.

"Move."

They moved. Away from the Stargate, away from home, they plunged into the corridors of the alien outpost as if pursued by demons. McKay's scanner led them through corridors where the lights didn't work and up a rickety stairwell. Ronon's legs were burning and his shoulders ached. Sheppard wasn't the tallest man he knew, but he was solid.

When they entered the last long corridor, Ronon felt himself trembling, breathing hard, but he wouldn't stop. None of the others could carry him as far as they needed to go. He was Sheppard's chance – but he felt that chance slipping away the longer they walked. Not once had Sheppard moved as they traveled. Not once had Ronon heard a groan or a puff of air. McKay ducked into a dark room and had the lights on by the time Ronon stumbled through the door.

Teyla held his arm and Ronon braced himself against the doorframe while McKay slapped at the console on the stasis pod that was shoved into a corner of the tiny science lab. The man was muttering, constantly and furiously. When the curses became audible, Ronon chuffed.

"Does it work, McKay?"

"Just another minute," McKay snapped back and then he lunged across the room to yank at a panel on the wall. Ronon fidgeted and Teyla threw him a concerned look before she joined McKay at the panel. Together, they managed to wrench the cover off and McKay dove into the wall headfirst, almost disappearing completely within the panel.

McKay's crow of triumph came just before the consoles and the pod and most of the rest of the gadgets on the walls began to glow.

"Go! Put him in. I've got power stabilized to the pod."

They met at the pod. Ronon took a deep breath, met Teyla's eyes who nodded with readiness. As if choreographed, Ronon heaved, Teyla snatched, and together they managed to prop John in the stasis pod just as Rodney shoved a finger at the activation button.

The blue glow surrounded John and he froze, mid-slide to the floor.

For a long time, Ronon just stood there looking at his friend while his arms shuddered and his legs ached with fatigue. John "stood", his shoulder and head flopped against the side of the pod, his knees locked upright, but unsupported. Trickles of blood trailed from the corner of his mouth and his nose.

"What have I done?" he heard McKay whisper and Ronon was shocked to find the scientist staring in horror at John. He turned wide eyes on Ronon. "What the hell have I done?"

"I thought this would give him a chance," Ronon answered, puzzled by the man's distress.

"Is he even alive? Was he alive when we put him in there?"

"I... I don't know. We were fast. Faster than I hoped. Beckett can bring him back."

McKay clamped his mouth shut, then turned away. Ronon looked back at the pod and felt a shiver of dread as, this time, he saw what McKay saw: If Sheppard was dead, they'd dragged him around for nothing, delaying his friend's final rest. Ronon's people weren't very spiritual, but they respected life and the body that contained it for a time. If he wasn't dead, then Ronon had just frozen his friend in a perpetual state of _dying_.

But...he'd had to do it. Because McKay was right – John had given Ronon more chances at life than _he_ could count. He'd saved him from running – twice. From Wraith addiction. He'd given him purpose and a way to hurt the Wraith.

Ronon couldn't save his friend from death. But he sure as hell could hold off the fight until another day when the odds were more in John's favor.


	3. Woolsey

**Woolsey**

Richard lived for punctuality. He prided himself on his ability to organize tasks, and control himself and his environment such that he always knew he would be "on time". So it was with great irony that when Dr. McKay dialed in from 5774, _on time_, Richard felt a drop of dread. Colonel Sheppard's team was _never_ "on time".

When he'd first taken command of Atlantis, the Colonel's carelessness had infuriated him. Over the months, though, he'd been forced to learn Sheppard merely worked on his own internal clock that had precious little to do with external forces - at least not those imposed by protocol.

For Sheppard, returning early meant one of two things: the mission was boring, or they'd run into trouble right away. Returning late meant the mission was either interesting or they'd run into trouble right away and hadn't managed to get out of it punctually. Sheppard just didn't bother to prioritize his fighting or escaping or whatever he was doing to arrive on time. Really late, of course, was worth worry and Richard had sent teams after the Colonel on more than one occasion.

On time, however... Richard wasn't exactly sure _what_ that meant. It was a surely a coincidence of great import, so he took the extra effort to jog down the steps towards the Stargate and greet the returning team, just to shake the odd sense of foreboding.

He was less than happy to have his instincts proven correct. The team arrived shoulder to shoulder, weapons high and firing, stalking backwards to hold off God knows what. All of them were filthy, sweaty and bloody.

"Turn on the Shield!" Ronon bellowed the moment they'd cleared the event horizon. The technicians responded immediately. A thud of failed arrival hit the shield a moment later and Ronon screamed a curse of triumph and spat at the glowing energy.

Richard was so shocked by the dramatic entrance that it took him until the wormhole collapsed and the hum of the shield faded, leaving behind only the sound of Dr. McKay's labored breathing, to realize the obvious: "Where is Colonel Sheppard?"

The immediate slump in Teyla's shoulders explained more than any words could have. Ronon stiffened and advanced until he stood glaring down at him. Richard managed not to flinch.

"We need a strike team to take back the outpost. I'll tell Lorne to get started," the tall, taciturn man growled, clearly not in a mood that would appreciate contradiction. Having also learned a thing or two about managing those more prone to action, he raised his hands and spoke firmly but quickly, hoping the man would hear him in his worked-up state.

"Of course, I will do exactly that if the situation warrants, but I need to hear what has happened, first, and where Colonel Sheppard...is." He trailed off as his gaze fell on the large blood stain saturating the right shoulder of Ronon's coat, Teyla's blood-covered hands, and the almost freckle-like spatter of blood on McKay's pale face.

To his great relief, it was McKay who answered before Ronon's deepening snarl could explode into another curse.

"We ran into trouble. We explored the outpost for almost an hour and were making our way back to the Stargate when a large gang of bandits invaded the outpost."

"Invaded?"

"We saw evidence of previous occupation in our survey - trash, clothing, even a campfire - but it was old. My guess is that these bandits have safe-houses on lots of different worlds and we just happened to stumble upon the one they'd decided to use today."

"And Colonel Sheppard?" Richard pressed; he was feeling almost panicky by the team's odd refusal to speak on the subject.

"Sheppard was...shot as we attempted to return to the Stargate. In the chest at close range." McKay paused and Richard closed his eyes, feeling a deep sorrow, and not just because he'd have to break in a new military commander. McKay went on, sounding hesitant.

"It was bad. The Stargate was cut off and Sheppard needed immediate medical attention that we couldn't get him. So... we found and activated a stasis pod and put him in it."

Richard blinked. "You're saying that Colonel Sheppard is still alive in a stasis pod on that planet?" The story was so fantastic, he couldn't decide if he should be relieved or horrified. Apparently McKay felt the same way because he flinched.

"He's...in the pod. We're not sure he made it there...alive, though."

"It doesn't matter," Ronon barked, clearly anticipating opposition, "Beckett can bring him back. What matters is that we clean out those damn bandits before they find and mess with the pod. What matters is securing the base so Beckett and Jennifer can get him out and fix him."

There was an expectant pause as the whole team waited for Richard's response. He took a deep breath, suddenly hating his role in the universe. "You are recommending significant military action to secure an – I'm guessing – tactically insignificant asset to rescue a man who may, or may not even be still alive and may, or may not, be revivable were the outpost secured?"

Ronon leaned over, snarled in his face, "That's what I'm _recommending_."

"You realize that you are asking me to put more men in danger for little or no benefit. It seems unadvised to risk multiple lives in an attempt to save one life that may not even be savable." Perhaps it was because of the tension, or because he had never been faced with such a dilemma, but he kept seeing the blood – Sheppard's blood – everywhere, all over the team in front of him. How could a man be saved having lost so much blood?

The Colonel's friends, however, seemed unable to accept that interpretation.

"We don't leave people behind," McKay snapped, his expression turning from shock to anger.

Ronon's face went so feral that Richard was worried the man might turn around and run back through the gate by himself. He hastily turned to Teyla, "Teyla, you haven't spoken, yet. What is your assessment of Colonel Sheppard's situation?"

Teyla looked like she had to travel from a light-year away to answer. When her face finally registered recognition, she opened and closed her mouth as if finding and rejecting many answers. At last, her eyes went pleading and she spoke with broken simplicity.

"I think John would take the risk for any of us. If there's..._any_ chance..."

Her words soothed the anger of her teammates and Richard found himself caught in a triple gaze of quiet expectancy. He knew what he should do; he knew what he had to do.

"I'm very sorry," he began softly. As one, the group stiffened and he raised his hand for patience, "I cannot _order_ more men into harm's way under these circumstances. But," a slight smile found his lips, "if you can find enough _volunteers_ to muster a strike force, then I cannot object to a rescue on humanitarian grounds."

There was a moment as the team processed his statement, then Teyla smiled for the first time, her face flooded with relief. McKay slumped and Ronon grunted in approval. It was a credit to this base, to Sheppard himself, that Richard's semantics were a merely that. There was no question that finding volunteers would be ridiculously easy.

Richard couldn't save Sheppard. There was too much risk, too little promise of gain. He was bound by the logic and protocol and reason of his position. _He_ couldn't save Sheppard.

But he would not get in the way of those who could.


	4. David

**David**

He thought he was prepared. Ever since John had run off to the Air Force and managed to get himself into real engagements and real danger, David Sheppard knew that a part of him was always half-expecting to hear that his brother had been injured or killed in action. John didn't do things half-way. He'd played solider as a kid, fighting and dying with plastic guns and hapless canine enemies, flying and crashing fighter jets made out of cardboard boxes.

The day John came to David's house after their father's funeral, David had realized that was now the one that would pick up the phone. John was still a soldier, still in danger. Nevertheless, when the call did come – at ten in the morning, at work, between an early conference call and a late morning meeting – he suddenly understood that _expecting_ was very far from _prepared_.

"I'm very sorry to inform you, Mr. Sheppard that your brother, Lt. Colonel John Sheppard, has been, um, killed in the line of duty," the voice on the line was saying while David felt the floor tilt away from him. His heart began to race, and his eyes burned, and his hands began to shake. He pressed the one not holding the receiver into his desk. In that horrible moment, he realized that what he'd really expected was more time: Time to reconcile. Time for them both to _grow up_, to truly bury the hatchet. To see each other's kids, or wives at least. Time for them to _find_ wives and have kids.

"I see," David managed. "How...how did it happen? When will he...will he come home?" David trailed off. He didn't even have any idea what John's final wishes were.

"The details of the engagement are classified, but the rest is why we've contacted you. The circumstances of Colonel Sheppard's situation are _unusual_." The speaker, some General Landry, chuffed and David got the distinct impression that he was frustrated, even annoyed, by something.

"You see," the General went on, "Your brother is _technically_ dead. His mission puts him in the presence of technology, however, that is currently preserving his body at the exact moment of physical death. Colonel Sheppard's medical power of attorney, Dr. Rodney McKay – not a medical doctor, by the way – is advocating for extreme intervention in the hope of resuscitating Colonel Sheppard. It is also he who has insisted you be informed, even though the Colonel's fate has yet to be...confirmed."

David blinked. "I don't understand."

"Your brother has been mortally wounded. Dr. McKay felt you would wish to be informed of your brother's tenuous circumstances. Even though this goes against _protocol._" The General added the last as an angry snap.

"Protocol?" David found himself unable to do more than repeat the General.

"Colonel Sheppard has requested that his family _only_ be contacted upon the event of his death."

David felt a tickle of familiar annoyance underneath the numbness of the shock.

That same day last year, David had been feeling the burden of his new position as head of the family – as small as it was – and he'd welcomed John in, despite their argument at the funeral. He'd heard John's anguish over his broken relationship with their father and David had finally been able to admit their father's part in it. They'd made progress, a little, towards forming a relationship based on shared history, at least.

David had asked – reasonably, he'd thought - about how he should perform his duties in John's financial and legal life.

John had burst into laughter, which was better than swinging a fist, David supposed.

"Dave, I'm a freaking Colonel in the United States Air Force with 20 years already under my belt. I think I've got my _financial situation_ under control." The sarcasm seemed excessive to Dave. "I told you, I don't want any of Dad's money. I never did. I just want..."

John had cut himself off, but Dave hadn't been thinking past his obligations.

"But what about contact information? What's the best way to reach you? What if you become ill or injured? Will the Air Force know how to contact me?"

John looked at him, a smile toying at the corner of his mouth and David got the impression that John was employing a patience only recently attained, but it was a patience David hadn't yet achieved. He only felt annoyed at John's circumvention. John's expression went paternal.

"I'm fine, Dave. You don't have to worry about me, or my finances, or my _legal interests_." He'd said the last with a smirk. "All that is taken care of by the Air Force. You're off the hook. I don't need a father or a lawyer. I'd just like you to be...my brother..." he'd finished softly, asking for something David wasn't ready to give him, then.

When David finally replied to the General, he heard a snap in his own voice. "John gave all authority for his medical care and his estate to the Air Force a long time ago. John's instructions make that quite clear. I'm family in genetics only. John obviously doesn't want or need my involvement. _Didn't_ want?" he stumbled over the last, the mistake throwing him back into confused grief.

"That is my interpretation of Colonel Sheppard's wishes as well." The General sounded pleased, as if he'd just won a bet. "I apologize deeply for troubling you prematurely. You will be informed upon further developments, of course. Stay on the line and my assistant will give you the number of a case manager. Thank you for your time, Mr. Sheppard. The Air Force is very sorry for your loss. I mean, for the

sad circumstances."

The General clearly wanted to sign off and be done with him. David's heart was pounding, his eyes were stinging from old hurts and anger as much as fresh, hot grief. He wanted nothing more than to slam the phone down and throw himself into his work and pretend he'd never answered the phone. Instead, a strange surge of protectiveness flooded his chest.

"Wait! General, what are John's chances of successful resuscitation?" The General sighed, obviously disappointed the conversation was not over.

"We have no idea, exactly, but it ranges from not good to not at all."

"John is currently on some sort of...life support?"

"That's one way of thinking about it."

David was silent for a moment. "Is he in pain?" he asked softly, the only question that truly mattered in moments like this. The General's answer was reassuringly swift.

"No. The stasis device is completely non-invasive. Even were he to have entered fully conscious, he would be completely unaware of himself or his environment."

The words were a greater relief than David expected, and he was emboldened. "General, may I ask – Why, if John expressly forbid contacting me, why did you call? Forgive me for noticing, but it was obviously against your own preference."

The snap was back when the General answered, "As I mentioned before, Dr. McKay _insisted_."

"You couldn't just...refuse? If John's wishes stated –."

"That's just the problem."

"Excuse me?"

"Colonel Sheppard is _technically_ dead, remember?" The General's voice was harsh and rough and sad and angry all at the same time and David's breath hitched with a surge of desolation. "McKay invoked the technicality, even while he is delaying the situation from being resolved in a futile, in my opinion, attempt to save the Colonel."

"Who is this Dr. McKay?"

"Dr. McKay is a colleague on the mission Colonel Sheppard is currently serving and a member of the Colonel's exploration team. I also feel confident in saying that they are friends. And that is why I believe Dr. McKay's judgment is clouded on the matter. He believes that he can develop a, um _treatment_, that would improve the Colonel's odds for revival, but has so far been unable to do this. Contacting you was a compromise of sorts. Dr. McKay agreed to give up his efforts _if_ we agreed to contact you, first."

The more he heard, the more confused and angry David got.

"So, how exactly _is_ this _situation_ going to be resolved?" David ground out, using the General's words.

"Colonel Sheppard will be removed from the stasis pod. I plan to order the attempt be made immediately."

"And John will die," David whispered.

"He's already dead, Mr. Sheppard," Landry reminded, then went on, his voice suddenly soft and genuine. "Don't think me cruel, Mr. Sheppard. I've seen this – well, not _this_ exactly – but I've seen false hope too many times in my long career. I believe in sparing no resources to support the living. But clinging to the dead is not good for anyone. Not for Dr. McKay. Not for you. Not even for Colonel- for John."

God, this was awful. David dropped his head into his hand, the receiver hanging loose. Landry's words were reasonable, genuine. Even sympathetic. But David kept returning to the baffling insistence of Dr. McKay that he be contacted – why would he _do_ that? Because David was objective? Knowledgeable? Because McKay thought John would _want_ him to suffer this agony of uncertainty?

Landry waited for a while until the silence grew uncomfortable.

"Mr. Sheppard?"

With sudden clarity, David straightened. "General Landry, I thank you for taking the time to answer my questions. Now, I must insist that you allow me to come see my brother."

"Come? Excuse me?" Landry sounded genuinely taken aback.

"Yes. Come there. Or go. To wherever John is. You have admitted to conflicting recommendations within your organization. Therefore, I cannot allow you to take any action of a decisive nature without my consent until _I_ have fully examined the circumstances."

"That is quite impossible, Mr. Sheppard." The General was sounding angry again.

"And yet it IS possible for my brother to be both technically dead AND revivable? It is possible for you to both have technology at your disposal capable of somehow sustaining a mortally wounded man indefinitely but _not_ have the technology to heal him?

"I warn you, General, I have lawyers and unlimited funds at my disposal to get to the bottom of this. John may have given the Air Force authority over his life, but I promise you, I can make your life miserable if you do not concede _my_ authority in the settling of his death."

The silence on the other end was delightfully hostile.

"General?" David prompted at last.

"Colonel Sheppard serves at a Top Secret facility requiring the highest security clearance."

"I have moderate security clearance for my access to the US Power grid. Any further clearance required can be processed while I'm underway. Or shall I call my lawyer? I also have my Senator on speed dial." David could almost hear the cursing in the deafening silence. There was nothing a government agent of the armed forces feared more than a well-connected civilian.

"Can your _unlimited_ funds get you to Peterson Air Force base by tomorrow evening?" came the snarl of an answer at last. David looked at his watch.

"I can do better than that. I will meet you there at 5:00 _this_ evening."

"Very well."

David hung up the phone, and just sat for a long, long time. When the full force of the conversation hit him, he shivered and buried his face in his hands. What _had_ he done? What had he gotten himself into?

Slowly, he forced himself to begin the large task of rearranging his life and chartering his jet for travel and for who knew what ahead. He'd only delayed the outcome, as the General was trying to tell him. But, he had to hear McKay out. Not because he felt objective, or knowledgeable. Not even really because he believed anything he did would save John – he might find that the best thing for John was to side with the General.

He'd done it because he was John's brother.


	5. McKay

**McKay**

He'd failed. Failed the one man who Rodney McKay could admit was not only more clever than him, but _shockingly_, also a friend. Rodney was _smarter_ than anyone, but Sheppard – Sheppard was the cleverest man Rodney had ever encountered.

Clever from the first hour he'd been thrust into Sheppard's company as the City's power failed and Rodney could almost _feel_ the water crashing around them. "What about in this Galaxy?" John had asked. Of course. How simple. While everyone else had been trapped by the horror of not being able to return to Earth, John had seen what they didn't. This man who'd never even been through the Stargate before that day had realized there was another way out.

John was smart, too, but "clever" was a trait that combined intelligence (not as intelligent as Rodney) with creativity and a bewildering inability to admit defeat. And in the four-plus years since that first moment of wary respect, Sheppard had pulled clever out of his ass so many times, that Rodney sometimes wondered if, just maybe, he'd rather be clever than smart.

That was why Rodney ached with shame. A bullet to the chest was a problem that could never be solved with intelligence. That was why, when John lay drowning in his own blood in a not-so-abandoned outpost at Rodney's feet, Rodney had grasped for clever, never in his life hoping so hard to be like the friend he mocked and ridiculed and loved like a brother.

He'd failed. He hadn't saved John with cleverness. Instead, they'd cleaned out the bandits, secured the outpost, and Beckett had told them with his light-years-advanced instruments that John was dead. Entombed at the instant his heart had stopped, trapped in the stasis pod that Rodney himself had put him in.

But something else of his friend must have rubbed off. Because Rodney wouldn't give up. When Beckett told him that survival would be unlikely because even _if_ John's heart could be revived, he had lost too much blood to survive surgery to repair the nicked aortal artery that had been the real problem, not to mention the lung. Rodney had yelled at Beckett about bringing John back from the dead before on the floor of a jumper, then told him to go figure it out.

Jennifer and Carson had come back a day later and said they would try, that they would come up with a detailed plan to map out every step of emergency procedure from the second John left the stasis pod. That they would also need the stasis pod room to be sterilized for surgery and that they would perform surgery there.

They also said they didn't think it would change the outcome. That John would most likely die, or stay dead, on the operating table.

So Rodney decided he needed a way to fix Sheppard _before_ he left the stasis pod. One week turned into two. Rodney couldn't sleep; he ate too much. He took the stasis pod on Atlantis apart twice, put it back together three times, but he couldn't figure out how to manipulate the stasis generators so as to allow Beckett access to the damaged artery and lungs without unfreezing him entirely, or killing Sheppard outright from the effects of having half of him frozen and half of him working. The Ancients hadn't seen fit to build the things with any kind of fine tuning.

Three weeks after John had been placed in the Stasis Pod on the lonely outpost, Richard Woolsey had come to see him.

"I've spoken to Stargate Command, Dr. McKay. They are recommending – insisting, actually – that we resolve Colonel Sheppard's situation."

"Resolve. What does _resolve_ mean?" McKay barked with the impatience of exhaustion.

"It means, to be blunt, we need to remove him from the stasis pod and...let nature take its course."

"I just need a little more time. I'm very close to, close...to," Rodney trailed off rummaging wildly through the stacks of Ancient crystals and Earth circuit boards, hoping Woolsey would just go away. Instead, Woolsey just stepped closer, interrupting his frenetic search.

"Doctor, you can't continue like this. _We_ can't. This base can't function indefinitely with a temporary chain of command – the SGC's words, not mine. Colonel Sheppard is a strong, resilient man. I have every confidence that if there's any possibility of survival, he will. But this, this _uncertainty_ is no good for anyone. Not for his friends or his family."

And that was what had given Rodney the idea.

Now, Rodney was fidgeting beside the jumper, trying to ignore the very annoyed looks of General Landry as they both waited for David Sheppard to make his way through the red tape to join them.

"You tricked me," Landry growled at last. "And I don't much like it."

Rodney just shrugged, and stepped a little further away. "Oh, hey. There he is."

David was escorted across the hangar where jumpers stayed during their rare visits to Earth. The haggard, shell-shocked expression on the man nudged at Rodney's conscience and he vowed to make it up to John's brother. Hopefully by, you know, _saving_ his brother.

"General Landry," David intoned, sounding more confident and poised than he looked as he drew close and stuck out his hand. Landry took it with a rueful shake of his head.

"Mr. Sheppard. I take it your security clearance is in order?"

"Absolutely. It turns out, General, that in securing my brother's security status, you have gathered rather a lot of information about me, as well." There was just a hint of accusation in David's tone, but it only widened the General's smirk.

"I'm certain you will find the precautions equal to the need. Enjoy your _visit_, Mr. Sheppard. You realize that only a service member of such high esteem and value to the Stargate program such as Colonel Sheppard would be given such _personal_ consideration. I am certain that you will not take advantage this rare privilege."

Rodney gulped, realizing that he'd put David into play at great risk to the Stargate Program. It was a secret for a reason. And the very qualities that made David perfect for Rodney's schemes also made him dangerous. Another wealthy, self-appointed ideologue had once caused a great deal of trouble for the SGC.

"Well, we should be going. Don't want the Daedalus waiting on us, now, do we. Important business and all." Rodney interrupted and started swinging his arms in the way that he'd learned made types like Sheppard's brother and the General nervous. This time, however, they both ignored him, reaching some kind of détente with glares alone.

"I assure you, General, my only concern is John," David answered, surprisingly meekly and Rodney felt a lot better.

He was about to bellow again, but froze when he found himself in David's cool gaze. He suddenly understood where John had learned _his_ glare.

"Dr. McKay I presume? I am _very_ pleased to meet you," David said offering his hand now to Rodney.

"Oh, right. We haven't been introduced. Dr. Rodney McKay, PH.D. Expert in Ancient technology and today, your pilot. Shall we?" Rodney was eager to get back to his research now that he had David to make sure he'd get the time he needed. David murmured farewells to the General then followed Rodney into the jumper, throwing a nervous look out the back when Rodney punched the lever to raise the hatch.

"This craft is..._alien_ technology?" David asked, sounding nervous and a little sarcastic – as if he didn't believe it. Rodney waved him impatiently into the co-pilot's chair. David sat in a stiff huddle looking afraid to touch anything. That suited Rodney fine.

"Yes and no. The Ancients were human, but this ship far predates human life on Earth."

"Right," David breathed, still sounding a bit mocking. "It will take us to John, though?"

"That's the _idea_." Rodney could match anyone sarcasm for sarcasm. David chuffed and Rodney just ignored him and brought the craft off the floor to navigate it through the twisting path that led to the SGC's stargate. He did think the wild arm flailing and hasty evacuation of the jumper pad and the gateroom was entirely unnecessary – he'd only scraped that one wall on the way in.

Rodney paused in front of the active Stargate and threw a look at David, realizing that one's first trip through was something of importance. David had a look of fixed nonchalance, as if determined not to show fear.

A sudden wave of melancholy washed over Rodney as he remembered watching John go through _his_ first time all those years ago. You see, back then he hadn't trusted the Major who'd appeared out of nowhere with the ability to control Ancient technology like Rodney could only dream of. For one thing, he'd been jealous. For another, Rodney had known everyone else on the expedition for several months. The Major was a variable. And Rodney hated undefined variables.

So he'd been watching John from the control room as John had screwed his eyes shut and taken his very first trip through the Stargate to another damn galaxy, knowing full well that it would likely be one way.

"You, um, you ready?" Rodney asked.

"To do what?" David asked in return, sounding haughty.

"Go through the Stargate. They told you about the Stargate, didn't they?" Rodney asked, alarmed.

"About the "portal" to other galaxies? Oh, yes. The General's subordinates did a fine job of telling me all about the magical network of energy devices that transports people to thousands of star systems."

Rodney was completely perplexed by the snide tone in David's voice. So he just shrugged.

"Ok, then. Here we go."

And he flung the jumper into the Stargate. They emerged in the impossible emptiness of the void. Rodney parked the jumper a few thousand meters from the 'gate and ran a scan. The Daedalus was just on the edge of scanner range, another couple of hours from them at hyperspace.

He ran a navigation check, pleased that his new macro for dialing the 'gate bridge had worked correctly, then glanced at David. David was shoved back in his seat like an ax murderer was reaching for him through the window. His hands were jammed into the seat below him and his mouth was open slightly. Rodney jerked his own gaze to the windshield, expecting a Wraith Hive to be bearing down upon them from the expression of horror on David's face. Instead, he only saw the impressively beautiful view of the Pegasus Galaxy spread out before them.

"What?" he prompted when David just sat gaping.

"Where...? What…happened? Where?" David gasped.

"We're in the void between the Milky Way galaxy and the Pegasus galaxy. We built a bridge of stargates and a station to connect the two networks, but Midway was destroyed almost a year ago. That's why we have to wait for the Daedalus to pick us up here at the end of the Milky Way network and shuttle us to the end of the Pegasus network where we can gate the rest of the way home to Atlantis. Still, it will only take two days instead of fourteen." He turned to stare at David, "You said they explained this to you?"

"I...didn't believe it," David confessed at last, all sarcasm vanished. "I thought the General was playing some kind of game; that he was engaging in hyperbole to scare me into..." he trailed off. Rodney couldn't keep from snorting.

"Fact is crazier than fiction, eh? Daedalus is two hours away. Make yourself comfortable."

It took a while, but David finally relaxed enough to let go his grip on the seat. When Rodney caught him leaning closer to peer out the window, he grinned and put the jumper in a slow horizontal spin – something of a 360 degree tour of two galaxies.

"That...is impressive," David admitted when they were again enjoying the view of Pegasus. Rodney worked on the macro for the next gate hop, the silence comfortable. After an hour, David fidgeted.

"Dr. McKay, may I ask you a question?"

"I believe you just did," Rodney quipped back with a grin, then quickly realized that David did not share his brother's sense of humor. David just raised an annoyed eyebrow so Rodney shrugged. "I mean, of course. Go ahead."

"Why did you insist that I be contacted about John's situation? If you are John's friend, as the General mentioned, you must know that we aren't...close."

"Oh." Rodney blushed, then poked at some buttons to stall. He hadn't expected _that_ question. "I needed more time," he said at last, deciding to try honesty. David didn't seem the type to accept banalities. "I took a chance that you would ask to get involved and that you would have the clout to pull it off."

"Clout?" David asked, his voice going icy.

"Ronon said Sheppard's, er John's, family was _connected_. And rich. Not that John ever said anything about it."

"You used me?" There was definitely a snap in David's voice.

"Yes. I used you. They were going to order us to take him out and I'm not ready."

"_You're_ not ready? And you feel you have the authority to make that kind of decision for my brother? I asked to see John's advance health directive: It states that life support in the unlikely event of recovery is against his wishes. General Landry made it pretty damn clear that recovery is _unlikely_."

"But I'm John's power of attorney. I decide when his living will should be invoked. In this case, the circumstances do not fit the intentions of the clause."

"General Landry also said that as John's close friend, your objectivity was compromised. He thinks you are simply avoiding the inevitable for your own peace of mind. You need to know that I will do, I will insist _you _do, whatever is best for _John_."

David's voice had a touch of nastiness in it and Rodney recognized challenge when he heard it. He slapped angrily at the controls, opened a private, encrypted file. The windshield became a video screen, blanking out the starscape behind and Rodney heard David gasp as a grainy, jumpy video of John, Ronon, Teyla and Rodney blasting their way through an Ancient outpost began to play.

"What is this?" David demanded.

"This is video from the mission where John was shot. I downloaded it from the outpost computers. I watch it every day. Every single day to remind myself why I have to figure out how to get John out of that stasis pod alive. Why I _have_ to."

Rodney jammed his hands under his armpits, feeling the surge of horror and grief and fury that flooded him every time. But the feelings gave him strength to fight on. To use every means at his disposal, even if that meant _using_ David Sheppard.

The story played out, the image jumping from "camera" to "camera". John in the lead, doing most of the clearing, Ronon covering their asses and taking out several more. Teyla taking the ones John missed or couldn't get to, Rodney glued to the scanner bellowing warnings and directions and looking – to his own eye – quite pathetic as he juggled both scanner and 9mm, the former far more expertly than the latter.

And then they reached a T-intersection. John was shot. He was slammed against the wall in a spray of blood.

The look of horror had returned to David's face and Rodney could only feel satisfaction. "Did you see it?" he demanded.

"I...just saw my brother...die," David choked out.

"No. You just saw your brother save my life."

"What?"

Rodney touched the controls and the playback jumped to the moment where they'd reached the intersection. He froze the image. There was a bandit at each corner of the T in a rather effective ambush.

"Two bandits," Rodney said, waving at the screen. He put the playback on slow motion and ignored David's cringe when the scene unfolded in graphic detail.

Two bandits, one to John's left, one to John's right.

The one on the left had a bead on John. The one on the right had a bead on Rodney.

The left bandit was John's obvious target – the muzzle of his P90 was almost pointing there already. Instead, John pivoted, fired to his right taking precious milliseconds he didn't have to take out the bandit that was about to blast Rodney's head off.

Teyla had to take a step to the left before she could fire. Her bullet hit the left bandit at almost the same instant the bandit's bullet hit John. Again, John slammed against the wall as the bandit shuddered and collapsed.

"Now do you see?" Rodney's voice was harsh, broken. David clenched his jaw, his eyes were blinking furiously, but Rodney didn't care about the man's distress. "John knew Teyla wasn't in position to get the bandit on the right. He knew the one on the left was aiming at him, and he changed his shot anyway. He saved my life and took a bullet for his trouble. That's why I need more time. That's why I'll never have _peace of mind_ if I don't try _everything_ to get him out alive."

"Do you really think you can save him, Dr. McKay?" David's voice was small and stricken. He was staring at the paused image of John, crumpled on the floor of the outpost with a smear of blood on the wall behind him. Rodney cleared the screen, leaving only the calming beauty of space.

"I don't have a choice. It's my turn. I'm close. I just need to find a way to let Beckett, John's doctor, repair the bullet damage _before_ he is removed from the stasis pod so that when we do take him out, he doesn't need surgery and he won't just bleed out everything we pump back into him."

To Rodney's utter surprise, David chuckled, then laughed, then buried his face in his hands until Rodney wasn't sure if he was laughing or weeping.

"Are you OK?" Rodney demanded when the strange mirth went on longer than seemed normal.

"Dr. McKay, I am as far from OK as I am from home." David took a deep shuddering breath, managing to regain control while Rodney watched, warily. At last, he turned, lifted his chin. "Thank you, Dr. McKay. Thank you for everything you have done for my brother."

"Oh. Ok. You're welcome." Rodney busied himself at the controls to avoid the awkward moment. David sighed, then visibly shook himself.

"Going to space was always John's dream," David said softly, almost to himself. "And here I am instead."

"John took to space like a duck to water. He was the first person from Earth to fly one of these," Rodney replied, equally soft with a wave at the jumper around him.

"That doesn't surprise me. And yet, with all this advanced technology, he's wounded by a bullet? Knowing what I know now, I would believe you if you said he'd been zapped by a laser gun."

"Most of the Pegasus cultures are relatively primitive. The bandits we were fighting were just your everyday, low-tech thugs. We've got energy weapons, too, but the Earth military seem to prefer firearms. That and we haven't figured out how to mass produce...laser...guns..."

Rodney trailed off, his brain suddenly exploding with possibility, and dare he hope – _cleverness_. David was eyeing him warily as he just sat and stared into the equations between his ears.

"Dr. McKay?" I took a long time for Rodney to answer.

"I...just figured it out. If we attenuate a directed laser pulse we can disrupt the stasis field along a path to the injuries. We can create a small tunnel of, of, _thawed_ molecules for Beckett to work through. I think...I think it will work."

"What will work? You have solved your technical problem? You've found a way to help John?"

"I think... so."

He should be dancing and gloating. He should be cheering and bragging. He could see the solution in his mind. He'd have a prototype ready before the Daedalus reached the Pegasus bridge. Instead, that melancholy feeling tugged at his chest. It was suppressed grief, he now realized and he hated how it seemed to be getting worse when he should be feeling the most hope.

Even with the solution he'd sought for the past three weeks glowing in his minds' eye like a trophy, he now realized it wasn't enough. Or, it wasn't _complete_.

Rodney knew it would be the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life to stand aside, now, and let nature take its course, as Woolsey had said. But he _had_ to do that, too. He'd only taken a step along the path, and that with David's unwitting help. Rodney hadn't saved John because _he_ couldn't. No one could, _alone_.


	6. Teyla

**Teyla**

"You want me to do what?!"

Teyla closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing herself not to scream in frustration. The tension of the past weeks had settled so deeply in her shoulders that not even the deepest meditations had been able to ease the terror of her heart. As Carson and Jennifer and Rodney argued around her about lasers and wavelengths and stents she found her soul aching instead for her broken friend who stood alone in a prison of technology.

"Think of it like this," Rodney was saying, his voice strained with the patience he was attempting, "The stasis pod generates a field that suppresses the energy of the molecules within it at the atomic level. It does, conceptually, freeze its contents, but with the field instead of temperature. What my device does is _melt_ the molecules that come in contact with the beam. Imagine a diamond ring trapped in a frozen lake – if you point a hair dryer at the ice over the place where the ring is located, eventually you will melt a tunnel in the ice allowing you to stick your hand into the water and pull it out. In this case, the bullet fragment that is lodged next to Sheppard's aorta is the ring. My device is the hairdryer."

"You're asking me to perform arterial surgery through a hole in the ice?" Carson's voice was panicky.

"Carson!" Rodney bellowed, finally losing patience, "You needed a way to repair the leaks before we take Sheppard out of the stasis pod. THIS is how you can repair the leaks."

"He's a man, not a bloody faucet. And won't your laser-powered hair dryer chop off my fingers when I'm sticking them into your damn puddle?"

"I already told you – the laser gave me the idea, but the device is really a highly focused beam of energy attenuated specifically to counteract the pod's field and energize the molecules along its path. It won't chop off your fingers!"

Teyla blew out an audible huff, the urge to flee overcoming her desire to understand. As she was about to turn on her heel and leave Carson and Rodney – with Jennifer looking on, wearing an expression of half amusement, half exasperation – her eye fell on David Sheppard. John's brother stood just behind Rodney his face red, his fists clenched, and his lips pursed into a thin line of control.

"David, please come with me," she said firmly, startling the visitor into complying. He was looking wary again by the time they reached the blessedly empty corridor outside the infirmary. She felt much better away from the arguing and was able to manage a wan smile.

"I find the doctors' way of _communicating_ very nerve-wracking," she admitted. "It's usually best to come back later when they have reached consensus."

"How is it that those people are responsible for John's care? They were acting like squabbling children. And Keller! Is she a doctor or a resident? She can't possibly be old enough to have her license."

David's words came out in a frustrated burst, cross and bitter. But Teyla could see the fear that drove the anger – the depth of his concern for his brother and the discomfort of a man shoved from his own world into an alien one. Literally. Where Rodney, or even Woolsey, might have responded in anger, she felt only sympathy. Letting impulse guide her, she reached for David's hand in the gesture of reassurance of her people.

"Rodney, Carson, and Jennifer are three of the most brilliant minds your world can claim. They bicker because they are also great friends - they speak their hearts. But even more important than their being the best people in two galaxies to bring John home is the fact that they are among John's closest friends. As am I," she finished wistfully.

David stiffened and continued to glare for several long moments, until he seemed to collapse in upon himself, all at once.

"It's Teyla, isn't it?" he asked and she nodded. "Teyla, as a friend of my brother, can you help me figure out what I should do?"

Teyla let go of David's hand to consider his question and the motive behind it. "What do you mean by _do_?" she had to ask. David threw up his hands and walked away a few steps, spun and returned, his hands on his hips. Teyla felt her eyes sting – though the Sheppard brothers resembled each other very little, the gesture was so strongly reminiscent of John that for a moment she felt as if he were the one standing in front of her.

"I mean, should I allow Dr. McKay and Dr. Beckett to attempt this unusual procedure. Or should I ask that more time be given to the situation for review. Should I ask for a second opinion? Should...should I simply let my brother...go?"

His voice shook over the last question, but Teyla narrowed her eyes, seeing now a man who felt a responsibility that perhaps was not his to bear. It was another way in which this man was like her friend.

"If that is what you mean by _do_, then you should _do _nothing." Her answer was quite firm. David raised an accusatory finger.

"Dr. McKay brought me here to evaluate John's situation so I can decide what is best for him."

"No. Rodney brought you here ensure that what is best for John is what transpires." She continued even more firmly, talking over David's chuff of protest, "And what is best for John is to trust his friends and the love they have for him. What you should _do_ is fight with your whole being to keep John's care in _our_ hands. In Rodney and Jennifer and Ronon and Carson's hands. In _my_ hands. Rodney brought you here as a buffer against those who mean well, but do not see clearly. Have you been to see John yet, David?"

David was still looking mutinous, but her question startled him.

"Uh, no. I have been occupied since our arrival this morning," he stammered.

"Then it is time you did so. Come with me." David opened his mouth to protest and Teyla raised her hand sharply, causing him to snap it shut again. "I will take you," she finished firmly.

David was silent, his face a stony mask as he followed Teyla to the control room to request permission, then to the ready room where she outfitted him with a tactical vest and donned her own, then to the gateroom floor. She saw him fidget when the wormhole reached out for them before collapsing into a placid gurgle.

"You have been through the Ring before?" she asked. David's grin was sheepish.

"Yes, but I was in the space ship both times. I have not _walked_ through before."

"I see. John says it is just like stepping on a, on an – he described it as a moving machine of steps that rises out of the floor?"

"An escalator?" David guessed sardonically.

"Yes. That is the device. You will feel slightly off balance when your first step lands on the other side, but it passes quickly."

David sighed deeply, but he followed her. At the outpost, she nodded to the two security officers who guarded the base against revenge-seeking bandits or others who might try to invade. Unlike the guards who stood in stoic attention on Atlantis's arrival platform, these soldiers – a man and a woman – smiled warmly at her and approached them to exchange warm words of welcome and, once David was introduced, condolence.

"These soldiers volunteer their time to watch over John," she told David as she led him deeper into the complex. "Mr. Woolsey became alarmed at the resources required to keep the outpost secured, so Ronon has been coordinating volunteer security teams for the past week. Most of them serve full days at duty then come here for their shifts."

"That is... that is impressive," David whispered, properly awed.

"It is how they show their respect for their commander."

The base was quiet and gloomy. Rodney had repaired all the lights along the path from the Stargate but they had to walk past intersections where corridors stretched off to their right and left into utter blackness. At the stasis pod room, Teyla greeted the soldier posted there, then asked him to wait outside.

Once over the threshold, she took a deep breath, preparing herself as she had found it necessary to do each time she visited. David stopped just inside the door, his body a stiff mass, as frozen as John. To give him the time he needed to prepare himself, she crossed the space to stand in front of John then bowed her head to him with the Athosian gesture of familial greeting.

John still stood slumped against the side of the pod's interior, his uniform shirt torn open, his bloody t-shirt sticking wetly to his torso and a hint of bandage peeking through the hole that was almost hidden by his flaccid arm.

His face was what brought Teyla to the room time and again. For though fine strands of hair were plastered against his sweat-slicked forehead and trails of blood traced from his nose and mouth, his face was relaxed, the familiar creases between his brows smooth.

Her interpretation of the meaning changed based upon her mood. When she felt helpless and feared that John was lost to her forever, the serenity of his face reassured her that he was at peace, that he'd accepted his fate. When she was brimming with fire and hope, his expression seemed trusting, as if he rested unconcerned, that they were doing everything within their power to rescue him.

David remained trapped by the door so she turned and beckoned.

"Come, David. I do not know your culture's beliefs, but my people believe that the spirit transcends the body and that _John_ is aware of your presence, even though his consciousness is not."

David took a slow step towards her, then another. She reached for his hand again as he drew close enough to see into the blue glow of the pod's interior. He looked only long enough to gasp deeply. Teyla felt him tremble and then he wrenched out of her grasp to turn away from the pod. His shuddering back spoke eloquently of his distress.

Her own eyes brimming in shared grief, she touched the cold surface of the stasis pod. "Goodbye for now, John," she murmured, then also turned away, needing more to comfort living sorrow than to gather uncertain hope. She couldn't save _John_. There were others far more qualified than her for that task. But she could save the heart of one John held dear – even if he did not admit it. Even if David would not admit it.

"Release your pain, David. You are safe here," she crooned, placing her hands on David's shoulders. "You may weep without remorse. And then, you will be strong. Strong for John and strong for yourself. And do not forget, _never_ forget, that you do not weep alone."


	7. Beckett

**Beckett**

Colonel Sheppard was one of those lads who got to you. Ferocious and cold-hearted one day, vulnerable and a tad shy the next. As both doctor and sometimes offworld team member, Carson had seen the Colonel endure everything from rampaging gene-mutating Iratus viruses to vigils at the bedside of ill friends. He suspected most of the expedition was familiar with the ferocious side of the man – there were times when Carson was downright frightened of Colonel Sheppard's single-minded streaks of violence.

His closest friends many have even caught a glimpse of the man who was sometimes unsure of himself, despite his physical competence in most other respects.

But as his physician, Carson may have been the only person alive (or alive again) who had seen John truly vulnerable, at the mercy of his own human frailties. The Colonel's hardest moments of recovery had always, before, passed in confidential privacy under Carson's tender care – Paranoia and hypertension after surviving four Wraith feedings and a Wraith restoration; Shock and exhaustion after a run-in with a 10,000 year old castaway, not to mention cracked ribs; Days and days of fretful boredom during the slow return to 100% John Sheppard. And yet, even in the Colonel's darkest, most vulnerable moments, there would be a quirk of the lips, a wry joke, a determined glint in the eye that seemed to say, "S'OK. It's bad now, but it will get better, Carson. Just you wait."

Until now. It had taken Carson a full five minutes to work up his courage to run the scans on the Colonel within the stasis pod. He'd seen the man wrung through the wringer, but never before had he seen John Sheppard defeated.

Carson had wanted to throw his medical scanner to the ground and stomp on it. What good was bloody technology if it didn't tell you want you wanted to hear? He'd seen the desperation and horror on Rodney and Teyla's face, the grim fury on Ronon's, and Carson had so badly wanted their efforts to come to good result. Instead, the Colonel stood entombed at the moment of his own death, if you believed death was the moment the heart stopped. Carson didn't.

So it didn't really take much yelling from Rodney to convince Carson he could pull the Colonel off the ledge in the right direction. Especially after Rodney's miracle epiphany. He would never say it to Rodney, but the ability to repair the severed aortal artery – nicked by a bullet fragment that had ricocheted off a rib – before the Colonel was taken from the stasis field was the difference between emergency surgery in the back of an ambulance with a teaspoon and a real chance at resuscitation.

But the technology alone wasn't enough. Carson needed the _procedure_ that would pull it all together.

So he studied – Woolsey started going purple in the face every time Carson appeared in the control room because he'd asked to open a wormhole to Earth to download more research on thoracic surgical techniques so many times. The stasis pod worked shockingly like Deep Hypothermic Circulatory Arrest (DHCA). The more he prepared, the more he realized the incredible benefit the stasis field could offer emergency medicine.

And he planned –There was a large problem of access. In an operating theatre, he'd gain access to the aorta by either cracking the chest or delivering a stent to the damaged artery by snaking it up through the blood vessels from the leg. Rodney's "puddle" only offered him a small window to work through. Here it was Jennifer who demonstrated her expertise and brilliance and together they borrowed ideas from laparoscopic surgical techniques and scanned the poor man so many times to determine the exact angles and points of entry, etc. that Carson feared Sheppard would start to melt simply from their hovering.

Technique wasn't the only obstacle – he needed tools, too. It was then that Carson learned that Jennifer had spent a fair amount of time fixing cars as a child. Carson simply watched in awe as she took instruments apart and put them back together in just the way they needed. Rodney cobbled together a tiny video probe and monitor system.

When he was satisfied with his plan, he practiced – First he put a CPR dummy in the stasis pod chamber on Atlantis in as close to the same position as Colonel Sheppard stood, bullied Rodney into setting up his hair dryer and the scope with monitor and he practiced every step of the surgery over and over. The first thing he learned was that standing and holding his arms up steady enough and long enough was impossible. So Carson added a stool, just the right height, and made Rodney build him a platform to rest his elbows and steady his hands.

Then he brought his trauma team to the stasis pod and they drilled every step of the resuscitation after surgery. The first time Rodney killed the stasis field, the CPR dummy flopped and went head first onto the skull-shattering tile. There was a lot of yelling and blaming, and they did it again. The second time, the IV wires got tangled and the chest tube was yanked out when they laid the dummy onto the gurney that would be waiting for the Colonel. More yelling. Again and again, until they could perform every step of the rescue like dancers on the ballet stage.

And then he was ready. Woolsey insisted upon a night of rest before they made the attempt and Carson found himself late that night, sitting on the stool amidst the pile of equipment that was packed and labeled and ready to be taken to the stasis room on the outpost.

Soft noises pulled him out of mentally chanting the steps he'd memorized for the surgery and he looked up to see Rodney and Teyla and Ronon surrounding a very nervous looking David Sheppard. Carson rubbed his eyes, curious. David had hovered at the edges of Carson's world for the past three days, always present, always in the background. Upon a closer look, though, Carson was suddenly concerned for the man. David looked pale, pinched. He was impeccably groomed, however, even the casual style of his clothing revealing a sophistication that indicated quality and expense. But his eyes were hollow and he lifted his chin with a nervous jerk when Carson addressed the group.

"What can I do for you good people?" he asked softly, hearing the weary tone in his own voice. Woolsey was right – he needed rest.

"Dr. Beckett," David began, his voice gravelly, "I would like - " David stopped, bit his lip, "I need to ask you... As John's brother and only living blood relative, I feel... I would like to be the one to turn off the stasis pod when you attempt to revive John tomorrow. I just...think it should be...me."

Carson flicked a look at Rodney, then at the rest and saw only support for the idea.

"I can have no objections, lad," Carson agreed with a nod. "Lord knows you've watched how it's to be done often enough."

"Thank you. For...everything. However it turns out, I...thank you."

David lifted his chin, then spun to shove past Teyla and walk briskly out of the room, his head high and his shoulders back, but every step shrieking with stress. The others drew closer. Carson recognized the signs, knew immediately what they needed, so he let them speak first.

"Are you ready?" was Rodney's question.

"Aye," Carson answered as firmly as he could muster. He left it at that.

"Will John be in great pain?" was Teyla's soft query.

"I won't lie to you, lass. He'll be in a fair amount of discomfort from surgery and the injuries themselves if he survives the procedure. The chest tube that will be present for several days is damn uncomfortable, as is intubation – we'll keep him sedated for as long as that's required..." he trailed off, giving these friends the space they needed.

"Is Sheppard going to make it?" came from Ronon, the words more challenge than question.

Carson looked the large man sternly in the eye and refused to flinch when Ronon's glare cried with accusation.

"Colonel Sheppard is a strong, healthy lad. But the injury he has suffered is very serious. Back on Earth, most don't survive damage to the aorta. Most die before they reach a hospital. But John has something none of those people did – _you_. Your tireless work and quick minds have given him every advantage available. And some advantages that weren't until yesterday!"

Carson stood, reached for Ronon's shoulder. "I can't predict the future, but I can promise you I will do my best. If John slips into the comfort of the long sleep, it will mean it's his time and I will rejoice in his life well lived."

They stood together for many quiet moments, then one by one the team murmured farewells and drifted to their rooms, to rest if not sleep. Carson watched them go, his hands in his pockets. He was to bed, as well. But like them, he wasn't sure sleep would find him either.

At 10:00, they were ready. Ronon and Teyla had had the Marines wipe down every surface in the room and hang sterile sheets on every wall for good measure. All of Carson's equipment was moved, checked off his list, installed, tested, and lay ready at his fingertips.

Carson pulled the surgical mask over his nose and took a deep breath, with his hands in his lap. He closed his eyes and chanted the steps one last time. Behind him, the room was very, very still. The trauma team stood or rested on stools beside the gurney, knowing their part would come hours later – unless something went wrong and the Colonel was taken out of the pod early.

Teyla, Ronon, Rodney, David, and – to Carson's surprise – Woolsey stood along the far back wall, their postures tense and lethargic at the same time. Jennifer stood beside Carson, ready to assist and he could tell she was smiling at him from the crinkles around her eyes above her mask.

"Let's begin," he said.

It was by far the most difficult and strangest and most rewarding surgery Carson had ever performed. The challenges and peculiarity of working on someone who was standing up offered enough for a whole paper by itself, not that he'd be allowed to publish it. Step by step, though, he worked through his plan so painstakingly prepared, and so infuriatingly thwarted by the wholly uncooperative Colonel.

First was the bleeding. Then was the bullet fragment that slipped out of position when the area was thawed. Then was the unexpected problem of repairing the artery itself – there was not enough of it thawed to "pull" the edges of the tear together and it took Rodney's intervention and a terrifying moment of messing with the hair dryer's field to expand it far enough to tug them into place. And then there was the damage done by the bullet's path through the lung that hadn't shown up on scans.

At long, long last, Carson completed the last step, placed the last instrument on his tray, turned off the hair dryer so that the Colonel was once again fully embraced in the Stasis field (along with several important additions of Carson's doing), and sat back. There was rustling and soft murmuring behind him, but he had to concentrate on the moment to relax his trembling arms, flex his cramped fingers.

"That's that," he announced at last.

The murmuring became scraping as stools were pushed out of the way and the trauma team stood and stretched, preparing for their part. As they readied the defibrillator and tore open sterile tools, Carson walked the room a bit, spoke hopeful words to each of the Colonel's friends, took a leak and re-scrubbed.

This time, when he stood beside the stasis pod, the trauma team on their marks beside him (literal marks – he'd put x's of tape on the floor to indicate each person's position so that they could precisely reproduce the motions they'd practiced on Atlantis), a flutter of adrenaline chased his heart up to speeds that another doctor would find worrisome. _This_ was the hard part. He took a deep breath, blew it out, lifted the hand to give the cue – and froze.

For a terrifying moment, he could see nothing but his hands shaking in wide terrified tremors in front of him. All he could think about was the mountain-sized pile of "whatifs" that he'd had no hope of preparing for. A gentle hand on his arm pulled him out of the shocked moment and he jumped, turned to see the encouraging face of David Sheppard looking solemnly into his eyes.

"It's time, doctor," David said with quiet conviction. Carson jerked his head in a nod, feeling suddenly free – as if David's permission had somehow released the fear. Carson's fear could now be for John alone. David returned the nod, then resumed his place beside the control panel.

"Ready ladies and gentlemen?" he asked, leaning into position. "Now!"

The first step went perfectly. David slapped the stasis release and John fell into their waiting arms as if he, too, had practiced. The next stage also went off without a hitch – Carson had scheduled 30 seconds for his team to strip the Colonel and prepare him for the resuscitation. The quarter master had been very amused when Carson had asked for 10 worn out uniforms that they could put on their dummy to practice cutting the clothes off.

Carson looked at his watch and counted, loud and slow. When he got to 30, not only was the Colonel stripped and covered at the waist with a sterile sheet, but all his external wounds had been slathered with disinfectant, the IV lines Carson had inserted in the stasis pod had been connected to bags of saline and whole blood, EKG leads were attached, and the modified pacemaker had been connected to the modified defibrillator.

But nothing that any of them had yet done would matter if they couldn't get the Colonel's heart started. And the trauma team members who had been performing CPR from the moment the Colonel's back hit the gurney didn't count.

"Intubate," Carson cried and it took only seconds for the breathing apparatus to be inserted. The Colonel's chest began to rise and fall, though all motion was artificial.

"Here we go, lad," Carson murmured to John alone. "Administer first electrical correction. Clear."

The trauma team took a beautifully coordinated step back from John and the pacemaker/defibrillator hummed very softly. John's torso twitched, though not as dramatically as with a paddle defibrillator. There was a collective breath in the room.

"Nothing," Carson called. "Again. Level 2. And turn the pacemaker on. Let's see if we can fool that tough heart of the Colonel's into believing it's been beating all along."

The group cleared the table again, and again John twitched. Carson kept his eyes glued to the EKG monitor. It blipped and flashed with the artificial pulses of the artificial pacemaker. When it started to flutter with the symptoms of fibrillation, Carson's own heart leaped in hope.

"We're getting VFIB! Hit him with level 3!"

Another twitch. Another collective gasp. Carson waited.

"We've got normal sinus rhythm," he breathed, not yet allowing the words to turn into a cheer. "Let's watch for a few minutes, see if it sticks."

One minute of painful waiting passed. Two. The Colonel's heart puttered along, but something held Carson's relief in check. John was steady, but not growing stronger.

"Blood oxygen is dropping!" One of the trauma team called, only a little more anxiously than his professionalism should have allowed.

"Blood pressure dropping."

"Heart rate's dropping," Carson called out as the steady patterns on the EKG monitor grew lethargic. "Put him on 100% oxygen. Resume pacemaker and increase voltage."

Carson threw himself into crisis management mode. There was no longer any plan, no longer any preparation except his years of experience and a healthy dose of instinct. Jennifer worked at his side, equally focused, equally concerned. The friends and loved ones around the table were statues of terror, but Carson spared no attention on any of them.

John's heart faded, returned, faded again.

"Put him back in the stasis pod," a distraught, strangled voice begged when John shuddered again. Rodney.

"NO," came the firm, grief stricken answer from David's side of the room.

With each falter and revival, the likelihood that they simply would not be able to get him back the next time increased exponentially. Exploratory surgery was out of the question. A dozen other options also unavailable, even on Atlantis - they were either too far away or John was too weak to try.

"Come on, lad. You've come this far," he whispered as he worked. Carson had tried, he'd really tried to save the Colonel. He'd done everything within his power, used the resources of two galaxies. But in the end – from the beginning, maybe – it was really up to John to save himself.

"Fight."


	8. John

**John**

"_Fight_"

John had slipped into sleep far from home (or help) and covered in his own blood. One really didn't expect to wake up from that. But what did surprise him was how much death (he assumed) felt like an afternoon nap – you know, the kind where you're exhausted, but your brain is too awake to really sleep so you rest and have weird dreams about laying on your couch sleeping and wake up not really sure if you did.

Once he let go and let himself hide from the pain and –he wasn't too big to admit it – fear, he sank into a place of dreams where he heard voices around him and then the feeling of floating and pressure – always incredible pressure – against his chest that almost became pain if he drifted too close to it. And then had been nothing. Absolutely nothing. He was a bit disappointed. He'd been curious about that white light and tunnel thing.

Then the dreams began again, to his utter confusion. There were more voices and a deep deep ache that pulsed, then throbbed inside him. He tried to hide from it. He wanted it to stop. That was the only point of dying, after all – to stop the pain. He was dying here, right? _Right_?"

"_Fight_."

_"Sheppard, you stubborn ass. You need to stop playing around and just come back. If you die now, who's going to keep me in line? Who's going to bring the clever the next time we're running for our lives?"_

John wasn't sure if he was really hearing words, but he was curious. He could come back? There was a choice here? Briefly, he tried, but any dancing towards the dreams only brought the pressure and pain and, dammit, he'd had enough pain. Enough for a lifetime.

_"You're tough, Sheppard. I've seen it. You can do it. You can fight it."_

No. No, he couldn't. No more pain.

_"We are here for you, John. You are not alone. You do not fight alone. Please come home."_

He felt a surge of longing. He did want to go home. To Atlantis. To his life. The word-dreams he floated in were constant, urging, nagging.

_"Fight."_

"Be strong."

"Come home."

The words continued, cajoling, daring, testing him. He reached for the pain and fought with it, but he was so tired. He'd fought for so long.

_"John, you need to come back because I've never told you yet how…proud I am of you."_

Dave? Why the hell was he in the dreams?

"Give me a little more time. Let me be your brother for a little longer and I promise I'll try to do better at it."

The fight was hard. Even trying his hardest, he wasn't certain he'd win. But as one of the voices kept reminding him, he was a stubborn son of a gun. And he didn't fight alone. Lifted by a surge of joy, he rose through the pain and became aware of weird sensations, cold and heat on his flesh. The pain localized – side, back, chest. He also began to choke and gag at something lodged in his throat. When he tried to cough it out, his chest shrieked and the gag reflex grew stronger.

"Damn it to all hades, he's conscious!" he heard a voice bellow very close to his ear. "Jennifer! Get him sedated, he'll need the breathing tube for another 12 to 14 hours at least while that lung heals."

The voice then went very soft and drew very close to his ear, "I know you're uncomfortable, lad. Just sit tight and we'll help you out with that. Try to relax, just let the machine breathe for you."

John tried and the voices around him sounded happy, relieved. Just when he wasn't certain he could avoid coughing again, a heavy drowsiness began to pull him deeper into the warm surface underneath him, and he felt himself slipping towards the dreams again, but this time it was like bobbing along on a boat rather than drowning in them.

There was a warm, firm pressure on his hand and the voice whispered again. "Welcome back, son. Ye've been missed."

It took a supreme effort, almost harder than fighting the pain, but John concentrated until his fingers contracted and he squeezed back.

"You're welcome."

* * *

**Beckett**

Carson leaned against the edge of the bed, idly thumping his thumbs against his thighs as the fretful movement of the Colonel started and stopped in fits and starts behind him. They'd just removed the breathing tube so he was watching the blood oxygen levels closely as he waited, but there was no alarming dip, and the Colonel's chest continued to rise and fall in easy, if a bit raspy, breaths. The curtains had been drawn around them and the infirmary was quiet outside the sheets.

When the lad finally stopped twitching and let his eyes flutter open, Carson was ready. He had a cup of ice chips and a supportive hand ready to soothe the man's abused throat. By the time he'd coaxed John to take a few chips, try a few swallows, John was fully awake, if groggy.

"Don't try to talk, Colonel. You'll be feeling very sore for a good while. Just shake your head to answer a few wee questions before you nod off again."

John's eyes managed to focus on Carson's face, and he nodded in answer.

"Do you recognize where you are?" John nodded yes. "The infirmary on the USS Enterprise?" The smirk that the Colonel managed was impressive, and the no was hardly necessary.

Carson chuckled. "Just checking your cognitive awareness. Next question: Do you feel cold?" The nod was sheepish, and not very enthusiastic, but getting the stoic Colonel warmed up on some easy personal questions usually worked to prime him for the tougher ones.

"I'll have some warm blankets sent over when we're through here. Bear with me for a few more minutes."

Carson prodded and poked the Colonel through the post-op tests he needed to complete with a conscious patient and felt his own shoulders tense as the necessary but uncomfortable tasks, (take a deep breath, does it hurt when I press here) took their toll. Carson could see the pain creeping over the Colonel's face, turning it from sleepy, still-drugged bemusement to teeth-clenched endurance, and still it grew.

He finished hastily. His own hands were shaking in sympathy when he administered pain-killers into the Colonel's IV line. John's fists were clenched on the bed, his head was thrown back into the pillow, and his eyes were screwed tightly shut.

Carson sat on the edge of the bed, put his hands firmly on the Colonel's arm, and he murmured encouragement during the long minutes of waiting for the blessed drug to take effect. At last John gasped and relaxed with a heartbreaking, choked sigh. A single tear escaped one tightly closed lid.

"Aye, I know it's hard, lad. Your body's angry with what we've done to it and you'll find it complaining loudly for a while. We'll keep you as comfortable as possible. Just ask for anything and you'll have it."

John nodded, then, to Carson's surprise, opened glistening eyes a slit to favor Carson with a fierce look. _S'OK. It's bad now, but it will get better, Carson. Just you wait._

"We'll have you on your feet in no time."

* * *

**Teyla**

Teyla entered the infirmary and was pleased to see John sitting up in his bed, looking more alert than he had at any previous visit. He was smiling so smugly when she drew close, she felt her own heart leap with his joy. She threw him a questioning glance, then sat lightly on the edge of his bed.

"Chest tube's out," he rasped, patting his side. His throat was still sore and his voice hoarse so he'd developed the habit of speaking in short phrases.

"That's wonderful, John. I am sure you will feel much better very soon, now."

He nodded, choosing not to speak. She was considering whether he would enjoy hearing about the news of Atlantis, i.e. talking to fill the silence, when he took a breath as if to say something, then hesitated, then scrubbed at his hair with his hand indicating he was feeling shy or anxious.

"What troubles you?" she prompted mildly, when he seemed to be having trouble working up the courage to say what was on his heart.

"What…happened?" he croaked at last. "On outpost. After."

She nodded, then laughed out loud, mostly at herself. "Of course. We have all been so relieved that you are recovering, we have not thought to tell you your own story!"

John looked a little nervous, then shrugged. "Thought…gonner."

"We thought we'd lost you as well," she answered softly. Even today, five days after his miraculous return to life, she could feel the terror and uncertainty and grief of those twenty-five days before, during John's incarceration in the stasis pod. She had felt like life had stopped during that time; like her own heart started beating again when John's did.

"Can't believe…four weeks," he added looking more disturbed than skeptical.

"It is four weeks I am happy to put in the past," she agreed. "Let me get a chair, and then I will tell you your story. But do not be afraid, it has a happy ending. Except for the part where Rodney realizes he has lost four weeks of work."

John chuckled appreciatively, and Teyla felt the warm glow of his presence, his vibrant aura. She settled into her chair and made sure John was settled as well.

"Once upon a time," she began, teasing him with the phrase he used when telling Torren stories, "There was a foolish Colonel who walked into a very nasty bullet."

"Hey! I did not walk into that bullet. We were ambushed." His voice gave an impressive squeak as he protested such that he did not sound intimidating at all. She grinned mischievously and continued.

"And his friends were very worried and felt very helpless. But they loved the Colonel, and he loved them. So they put him in a magic box to keep him safe and brought a magician to heal him when the box let him go. The magician magnified the power of the friends' love and brought the Colonel back to life."

John was blushing deeply and trying not to squirm. "Seriously," he muttered. "I want to know what happened."

So Teyla told him. But she liked her first version better.

* * *

**McKay**

Rodney could tell John was in a snit the second he walked into the infirmary. It didn't really happen often, but when John was cranky, you could almost see the thunderclouds over his head.

"What's eating you?" Rodney asked by way of greeting. "You're out of bed. You should be happy or something!" John was sitting in an arm chair beside his bed, dressed in surgical scrubs (thank God, Rodney could not bear the thought of seeing Sheppard's scrawny legs sticking out of a gown.) A laptop was propped on his knees and his bare feet slapped against the tile floor as his knees bounced in agitation.

"I am happy," John snapped.

"Of course. Happy is that thing where you scowl a lot and kick puppies. I always get that confused with surly which is something else entirely."

"I am not surly."

"Yes you are."

"Rodney, why are you here?"

Rodney grinned, so thoroughly enjoying the mere presence of his friend – awake and kicking puppies – that he was not derailed by the annoyance in John's tone.

"I need a reason to come see a sick friend? The friend whose life I saved, by the way with a bit of engineering brilliance beyond even my usual ken. Carson's been going on for days about the benefit to mankind that the McKay/Beckett stasis surgical procedure is going to make."

John chuffed, slapped his laptop shut and looked like he was at least trying to be pleasant. "Thanks for that," he said at last.

"You're welcome. So, I came by because I need your help."

"I thought you came by to see me."

"I did. Here's the problem – I've been thinking about the outpost and those bandits."

"Been thinking about that a bit myself," John groused very, very softly.

"We sometimes need some way to dial out when we're cut off from the DHD. If we could have called Atlantis from where you went down, we could have had them bring help and reinforcements. As it was, it was a hell of a fight to get out of there even without carrying your carcass."

"So, make us a remote dialing device."

"I thought of _that_. The problem is that the dialers in the DHD and the jumpers take too much power. They're too big to lug around. Not to mention all the symbols and some way to key them."

"We don't need all the addresses, just two maybe," John said, looking interested despite himself.

"I suppose we could limit the outbound wormholes dialed through a remote to just Atlantis or the Alpha site."

"Speed dial," John agreed.

"But the size problem is more involved with the power requirements."

"It's not the size that matters, it's how you use it," John retorted waggling his eyebrows.

"Oh grow up and help me here. I do not want to have to go through something like this past month ever again."

John chewed his lip, thinking, but it was that kind of thinking where you weren't sure if he was thinking about the problem, or about how he was going to make your life miserable because he'd already figured out the answer and you hadn't.

"Make the remote dial the DHD," he said at last.

"I already told you, we can't carry around enough power to –."

"No, I mean, let the DHD do the dialing using its own power and everything. Can't you create some kind of interface that would take a simple radio signal and trigger a program on a crystal or something that would do the dialing?"

"The DHD's are fairly dependent on touch activation -."

"Then fool the DHD into thinking someone's standing there punching keys. I've seen you do it from a laptop when the keys were busted. Like that time on 446 when the tree limb fell on the 7th symbol during that freak wind sheer."

Rodney grinned and John smirked. Rodney wasn't even very annoyed. "If we only need two addresses, I can figure out the specific frequencies for the keys in those sequences and then send them to the buffer that activates the stargate…"

"Sure. That," John agreed.

"We'd have to plug in a hybrid radio receiver/crystal each time we arrived on a planet, then remember to take it with us when we left."

"I'd add that to the gate-team checklist."

"I think that might work!"

Rodney was so enthusiastic about the idea, he started to turn and run from the room to his lab on the spot. But John's face had returned to a glower and his eyes were turning inward again, so Rodney paused, realizing he hadn't yet cheered up his friend.

"I repeat my query – What's eating you?" he demanded, really wanting to get to the remote dialer programming.

"Nothing," John sulked.

"Don't make me call Carson in here and force him to give you sponge baths until you tell me. Spit it out." John shuddered, presumably at the threat, but almost looked like he'd take the option until Rodney added, "COLD water sponge baths."

"Dave took off, OK! You dragged him all the way to Atlantis to butt into my business, then he couldn't be bothered to stay long enough to say hello."

A slow flush of chagrin heated Rodney's face, and he felt his shoulder's slump in embarrassment. "Um, yeah about that. I'll be right back."

He dashed to his lab, snatched a tablet computer off his workbench and dashed back to the infirmary where John's thunderclouds had mutated into tornado wielding death clouds.

"Here," he said and shoved the tablet into John's hands. "I, um, the video was too large to send through the email servers and with all the catch up work and you being too sick to watch it, anyway, I haven't got it compressed yet or put onto a thumb drive, and I'm sorry. Don't be mad at Dave."

John's expression flickered from surprise to suspicion so Rodney added, "You should also know that I didn't _ask _Dave to come. I needed more time before they took you out of the stasis pod and I gambled on him to press for visitation, and to side with me. With all of your family's connections, I figured he'd be able to bully General Landry into letting him call the shots, and he did. He…came because he wanted to, John. Because he was concerned about you. Hear him out."

John's expression had gone from suspicious to confused, so Rodney figured he'd better scram and let him figure out the rest on his own. He left, his mind once again on the remote dialer.

"Clever," he said aloud with a chuckle, admiring John's quick solution. Rodney would have gotten there, eventually, of course. But why waste the time when John did clever so much faster.

* * *

**David**

John held the tablet computer in his lap for a long time before he punched the power button. Teyla had told him the whole story, from the moment he'd lost consciousness on the outpost to the moment he could remember opening his eyes and looking at Carson in the infirmary. She'd taken all afternoon to tell the tale, bless her.

But in the dim, chill quiet of the infirmary last night, he'd felt annoyance turn into real anger. He'd spent his whole life fighting his family, trying to convince them that his place was in the Air Force and that he didn't need them to tell him what he should do with his life. Eventually he'd given up trying – until his father died, and John had realized that life was fragile, time was short.

Even then, though, Dave wouldn't let go of him. Dave, like their father, seemed to think the "family" had some say in John's life. Even though John had managed to find patience for his brother, he'd left David's home after the funeral with a hollow, melancholy feeling. Dave still didn't get it. But at least John had tried, and he was rather proud of himself for that.

But then Teyla told him about the three weeks he'd been blissfully frozen in the pod and he'd learned that Dave had bullied his way through Landry – John's CO! – and butted into John's Top Secret life at the worst possible moment. He daydreamed now and then about buzzing Dave's house in an F302 someday, just to say _See! What I do is cool and worth a damn_. Instead, Dave showed up thinking he had to rescue John from himself; He showed up seeing only their father's worst fears realized.

He looked at the laptop. Rodney had said "video". A prickle of anger twisted his stomach. Not only could Dave not be bothered to stay around until he'd woken up from almost dying, he'd left a video no-doubt chewing him out and insisting he give up this crazy Air Force detour from a respectable life.

Finally, deciding he was angry enough that it wouldn't matter what Dave said in the video, he punched the power button and jammed his finger into the menus to call up the player.

The thumbnail gave John pause, even before he hit the play button. Dave looked awful. He was haggard with deep circles under his eyes and never in his life had John's he seen his brother looking so unkempt, despite the Armani golf shirt.

A bit more wary, John looked around to make sure no one was nearby (in case he threw the computer) and punched play.

The Dave in the video looked mildly bored, in a freaked out kind of way.

"It's recording. You can start," came Rodney's voice from offscreen. John was going to kill him for sitting on this.

Dave jerked, drew his shoulders back and suddenly looked a lot more like the brother John was used to. John felt his hands grip the edges of the tablet even tighter.

"John. Dr. McKay is recording this for me because, unfortunately, I must return to Earth tomorrow morning. Mr. Woolsey and General Landry have decided that Atlantis has used up its allotted intergalactic dialings for this particular crisis and that my choice is to return tomorrow or wait until the next weekly status report. While I would like nothing better than to stay and greet you upon your recovery, I have responsibilities that can't wait another week. Though you have never shown an interest in Dad's business, I'm certain that you would not wish it to fail. If only because it has the benefit of keeping me busy!"

The joke was lame, but John found himself smiling. Knowing that Dave had been bullied by Woolsey and Landry made him feel a lot better, somehow. The Video Dave chuckled and shook his head.

"Never in my wildest imaginations did I ever believe I would utter the words _return to Earth_in a non-metaphorical context." Dave lifted his eyes and peered into the camera as if he was looking at John directly and John squirmed in his chair. "You have a remarkable job, John. Terrifying, I must add! But I can think of no better person on Earth to represent our people to another galaxy.

"And while I must express my pride in you and the men and women you are serving with here on Atlantis, I am more…afraid for you than I have ever been." Dave's face went nervous and – another first for John – as frightened as his words indicated. "You may not know this, or even believe me, but I always thought Dad opposed your enlistment not out of disappointment, but out of fear. Fear for the life of his son. I know now, what he did not see, though – that the risk you take is worth it.

"Dr. McKay and Teyla were both instrumental in teaching me this, so please give them my regards and my apologies. It was a lesson firmly taught and hard learned. You have very loyal friends, brother. I am envious." Dave paused, using the pretense of a cough to gather his composure. John felt his own eyes stinging.

At last, Dave looked John in the eye again, and this time John did not flinch. "Heal quickly, John. And while I long to beg you to come home and leave the danger for others, I know I can't. I know, now, that would be selfish. So I simply ask that you…be careful. And to write once in a while."

Dave finished with a smirk that was pure Dave and John had to "cough" himself even as he was trying to laugh.

Long after the tablet had powered down into sleep mode, John sat, staring at the blank screen, wondering what the hell Rodney had said…and how he could ever thank him.

* * *

**Woolsey**

When Colonel Sheppard finally decided to arrive for their meeting – three minutes late – Richard found himself strangely unable to work up much annoyance.

"Colonel Sheppard. It is good to see you on your feet. I trust you are feeling up to your duties?"

Sheppard was grinning broadly, though Richard noticed he was rather more eager to sit in the chair opposite him than usual.

"I'm feeling up to anything that isn't my room or the infirmary. What we got going on?"

Richard stared at the Colonel, slouched easily in the chair, one heel thumping idly against the floor. "There is a great deal going on, Colonel. The Pegasus galaxy did not see fit to pause on your behalf. Although a lot of work around here did," Richard felt compelled to add.

"Sorry 'bout that," Sheppard said, sounding not at all sorry.

"Yes, well. It is good to have you back on your feet. Now, perhaps, we can get back on schedule."

Though as he said it, Sheppard was grinning and Richard felt certain that _on schedul _was not very likely with this man.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

**Ronon**

John was tired. More tired than he thought he should be after two weeks of bedrest and one of learning how to dress himself again. But the day had been good – you know, for a day of nothing but paperwork. There had been that interesting intel from their agent embedded with the Genii. And that gate team that had come in hot had been exciting.

His side was aching and he still felt short of breath when he walked farther than a couple of corridors or up more than a few steps. Even still, it felt damn good to be pushing himself. He was looking forward to crashing in his room, but he had one more thing to do, today.

Ronon was throwing Marines around when John reached the gym, so he sidled in, not wanting to interrupt, but eager to see someone moving their bodies in the way he really wished his would, but couldn't, right then. Unfortunately, Ronon spotted him, and mopped them up to finish quickly. John threw an apologetic shrug at the men who limped out the door because of it.

"Hey," Ronon grunted after wiping his hands on a towel.

"Hey," John replied.

"You going to dinner?"

"Gonna hang in my room," John said, using man code for _I'm hurting and plan to fall asleep as soon as I hit the door._

"Cool." Man code for _Sucks you feel like crap_.

"Maybe tomorrow, though." _I'll get better soon._

"I'll count on it." _I know you will. Don't sweat it._

"Good. Tomorrow then. And, hey… Thanks." _For saving my life. For staying with me when you could have run. For not giving up._

Ronon guffawed, slapped John on the shoulder so hard he almost fell over, then ruffled the hair on his head when he was too off-balance to duck.

_You're welcome_

**The End**

p.s.

Thanks for all the kind comments on the way! I've haven't replied to many yet 'cause I wanted to finish, so I'll get to it very soon. But know they are read and very much appreciated - they keep the fuel on the creative fire.


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